


Tales of the Fallen

by Rosewood_Writes



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action, Blood and Gore, Gen, Injury, Magic, Mild Language, Stormcloaks, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2019-08-29 09:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16741027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosewood_Writes/pseuds/Rosewood_Writes
Summary: "Come, brothers! Come, sisters! Gather 'round the fires and let me tell you a tale-the tale of a man called the Fallen: Vanquisher of the Undead; Thane of all Holds; Destroyer of the Dark Brotherhood... and the last Dragonborn. Hear his story and know that the gods are with us still, even in these darkest of times."





	1. Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenedath and his companion, Miana, have come north from Cyrodiil to Skyrim to find a person of interest. But when they get caught in the middle of an imperial ambush on stormcloak soldiers, their journey takes a deadly turn.

Miana stopped, tilting her head to listen. Her eyes darted from side to side, searching for something ahead of them. Fenedath frowned and turned to face the way they had come, scanning the trail behind them. Nothing was there. But Miana shook her head and drew her sword. Fenedath put a hand on the pommel of his blade, but stayed his hand. If it were just hunters, he’d rather not provoke them. Their presence had already proven to be unwelcome at best.  
“I thought I heard something,” She whispered.  
“Such as?”  
“Footsteps. Not a bear---too light to be a bear, or even an elk. This was fast, like a person.”  
“We should move, quickly. We’re in dangerous waters. The sooner we reach the next town, the better,” Fenedath took a step forward. Miana stepped in front of him and raised her shield. A loud thwump resounded as an arrow struck the wooden front. She broke off the shaft and glared into the surrounding forests.  
“Show yourselves,” She shouted.  
Fenedath placed a hand on her shoulder. “Run.” He urged, but she stood rooted to the spot. He didn't like the feeling in the air. It was heavy, as though the very forest was holding its breath in nervous anticipation. He heard nothing, but the uneasy feeling would not leave him. “Miana, I’d rather not shed blood here on the open road.”  
“If they want a fight, I’d gladly give it,” She frowned. “Since when did you become a scared old woman afraid of a little scuffle? You’ve got a blade and magic. What’s there to be scared of?”  
“Skyrim’s in open rebellion against the Dominion; it's not a friendly place for two altmer to be traipsing about brandishing weapons at passers by,” Fenedath stepped out from behind her and walked briskly down the trail. “Whoever shot seems to have left us. Now let's move on.”  
“Why don’t you turn around and go home then, if you’re so scared of a few wee little humans with arrows?” Miana jeered. “We’re so close, old friend. Don’t give up on me now.”  
“I didn't say we should turn back; I just want to reach Whiterun and catch a carriage to Solitude.”  
“We could have caught a carriage back in Riften if you weren't such a cautious tip-toer,” Mianna muttered. “I’m not afraid of these Stormcloaks. Why are you?”  
“I wish I had your carefree spirit, Miana,” Fenedath said. “Now, let’s go.”  
Miana grumbled under her breath and sheathed her sword. She stalked beside him, eyes downcast. She looked up at Fenedath as he stopped at the crest of the hill.  
“There are soldiers coming,” he pointed further down the trail to a group of men and women. “Draw your hood, keep your head down, and prepare for a fight.” He drew the hood of his cloak low over his eyes and gripped his sword firmly. Miana pulled her hood on and adjusted her shield.  
“They sure are in a hurry,” Miana said. “Wonder what they're running from?”  
“I’m not sure, but it can't be good. That's Stormcloak gear by the look of it.”  
They started up the trail briskly, hiding as much of themselves in their cloaks as possible. Mianna kept her eyes on the soldiers as they thundered down the trail on horseback. Fenedath kept his eyes on the forest. The uneasy feeling was following them. He could feel eyes upon them, watching, waiting.  
He snapped his attention ahead as the sound of hooves grew louder. The soldiers slowed as they approached. Those whose faces weren't hidden behind helms were tired and scared. Their eyes darted all over for any sign of danger. Fenedath looked down at his feet as the two groups passed each other. He sucked in a short breath as their eyes bored into him. For a moment, he thought they were in the clear. But then the horses stopped.  
“You there. Show yourselves.”  
Fenedath stopped but did not turn around. “I beg your pardon, Sir, but what for?”  
“They’s Thalmor spies, ain't they?” The soldiers chattered quietly amongst themselves. Fenedath’s stomach clenched. This was what he had been fearing.  
“I said reveal yourself,” The leader grunted. Fenedath tightened his grip on his sword as he turned around. He slowly lowered his hood and brought his gaze up to meet the scowling nord’s.  
“There, now we’ve seen each other. May we continue on our separate ways, Sir?” Fenedath said.  
“Here it is customary to refer to ones of higher stations with more respect. Or is that stooping too low for you… Thalmor?” The leader jeered down at them.  
Fenedath withheld a disgusted scoff. There had been a lot of those accusations on their journey, and he didn’t take too kindly to being associated with them.  
Miana growled quietly, “We’ve got business to attend to, Nord. Goods to sell, and all that. We have no time for interruptions.”  
“I see no cart. What type of merchants are you?” The other soldiers turned their horses to watch, snickering.  
“Jewelry, enchantments, appraisal.” Fenedath said, “We come north to Skyrim every year.”  
“And where are you off to sell, hmm? It wouldn’t be Solitude would it?”  
“What business of yours is it where we go, eh, Nord?” Miana turned her back and started to march away. “Good day to you.”  
Fenedath took a couple steps back and followed her. The soldiers lingered, watching them leave. For a moment, it seemed they would pursue, but they didn't. They turned their horses. Fenedath blew out a sigh of relief and jogged to catch up to Miana. One less fight to worry about.  
The sound of a horse screaming made his stomach drop. The two spun on their heels, eyes wide in shock. The canyon filled with shouting as imperial soldiers poured out of the forest and descended upon the Stormcloaks.  
“Kill the Thalmor!” The leader roared. “Don’t let them escape!” A group of Stormcloak soldiers detached from the main group. Miana drew her sword and charged ahead, swearing as she went. Fenedath shook his head and charged after her.  
The first soldier fell within seconds. Miana sliced through his horse’s chest. She sidestepped to avoid the horse as it crashed to the ground. The soldier hit the ground hard, bouncing twice before rolling to a stop at Fenedath’s feet. He dispatched the soldier with a sword through the back, grimacing as he went. This was not going to end well. He was sure of it already.  
“You alright back there, Old Man?” Miana called back to him as she parried a blow with her sword and stuck the soldier through the stomach. She yanked him from his horse and took his steed. Fenedath rolled his eyes as she challenged another one of the riders. Off she went, into the thick of things as she always did.  
“Don’t go getting carried away, now!” Fenedath shouted.  
“Then keep up with me!” She shouted back.  
The first foot soldier charged him, shouting obscenities. Fenedath scowled slightly and brought his blade down on the man’s neck. He made a choking sound as he fell to his knees. Fenedath wrenched his blade from his collarbone and marched into the fray. Damn these Stormcloaks. This was the last thing he needed to be doing.  
The Imperial soldiers left him and Miana well enough alone. The Stormcloaks, however, attacked them without fear. Miana stuck close by him, guarding his blind side while they fought. As he switched from using his sword to using magic, the Stormcloaks backed off, focusing more on the imperial soldiers instead.  
As the battle raged, Miana drifted away, pushed and pulled by the throng of bodies fighting and falling all over the place. He moved to the edge of the battlefield, knowing that his blind side would hamper his fighting in the thick of the fray without her beside him. There were few Stormcloaks left. If he could only see her through the chaos, they could escape before the battle ended. But the mass of bodies and riderless horses made it impossible to focus.  
Fenedath looked about when he heard a horse shriek. His gaze fell upon a stormcloak archer smiling smugly from the edge of the battle, bow slowly lowering. He turned and fled the battle, trampling soldiers in his way as his steed fled the fight.  
Miana fell from her horse and hit the ground with a hard thump. She rolled several feet before coming to a stop at the edge of the trail. Fenedath ran to her, shoving every man and woman in his path to the side. He could feel his heart racing in his chest.  
“Miana!” He shouted. She didn’t move, merely laid there, struggling for breath. He shouted to her again, hoping she was just dazed. He just hit the horse. It was just the horse. She’s only stunned, he told himself.  
He fell to his knees beside her and turned her over, stomach churning at the sight of the arrow sticking clean through her stomach. Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth. She looked up at him with a weak smile.  
“This puts a damper on things, doesn’t it?” She forced a laugh. Fenedath propped her up on his knee and broke off the tip from her back, too worried to answer. He thrusted a potion into her hand with shaking fingers. She held onto it, ready for what was coming next.  
“Deep breath,” He said as he gripped the splintered shaft in his hand. She nodded and bit down on the hood of her cloak. She howled through the fabric in her mouth as he pulled it out. A quick spell pulled any remaining splinters and contaminants from the wound. She downed the potion as he pressed his palm and part of his cloak to her back. He muttered the familiar words of the healing spell, feeling the torn flesh under his hand knit itself back together slowly. He placed the other hand on her stomach, hoping to seal both sides at once, even though it would take longer. It didn’t feel safe here on the edge of the battle, but he needed her to at least be able to move.  
“You there! Stand up!”  
Fenedath swore and focused harder on the task at hand. He hadn’t bothered paying attention to the battle. The sound of fighting had stopped. He could hear the wheels of waggons coming down the trail, horses snorting and hooves clicking against the stone road. He was running out of time. Which side had won?  
“I said stand up!” The voice repeated.  
Two pairs of hands wrenched Fenedath away from Miana. He shouted in protest, shaking them off. More bodies forced him to the ground, tying his hands behind his back. He still struggled despite the opposition, watching them stand over Miana as she lay bleeding on the ground. A few imperial soldiers crossed in front of him, escorting a few battered stormcloaks towards the wagons.  
“She’s wounded, but not too badly. Grab her and throw them with the others.”  
“Let me heal her!” Fenedath pleaded, “Please; she will die otherwise!”  
The soldiers yanked him to his feet. The commander waved his hand dismissively. “If she dies, she dies. You’re both under arrest.”  
“For what?” Miana protested as the soldiers hauled her up off the ground.  
“Crossing the border illegally, assault of imperial soldiers, theft---dare I go on?”  
“Theft? Theft of what?!” Miana snarled. “We’ve stolen nothing.”  
“We harmed none of your soldiers! The stormcloaks attacked us and we defended ourselves,” Fenedath protested. “We crossed legally, had my whole inventory verified at the border and everything.”  
“Explain all the jewels in the bag." One of his soldiers threw Fenedath’s pack on the ground, spilling out a few necklaces and rings.  
“I’m a jeweler,” Fenedath said, casting constant glances over at Miana. By the Eight, she was getting paler by the minute. “Those are custom pieces I forged back in the Imperial City. They’ve got my craftsman seal on them and everything. I can prove it!”  
“Get these thieves in the cart,” The man scoffed. “Perhaps the Thalmor have a bounty out for them.”  
Fenedath relented as they dragged him towards the waggons. They bound his hands with thicker rope and tossed him into a waggon with several stormcloaks. They set Miana down beside him. She leaned against him, letting out a long, shaky sigh. He leaned his head against hers, a sinking feeling in his stomach.  
“Is this it, Fen?”  
“Aye, Lass, I think it might be."  
“It was a good run." She forced a laugh, clutching her stomach tightly, “Maybe for you at least.”  
Fenedath smiled weakly, staring down at his hands. He could burn away the rope so easily, save her life and his own. But with the soldier sitting in front of him with a dagger in his lap, he knew there was nothing he could do.  
“Promise me one thing, Fen,” She mumbled into his neck as she closed her eyes. “Don’t give up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the first chapter closes! Be sure to check out my Tales of the Fallen: Shorts and Fillers series as the story progresses to get little snipits of character building and storyline that I don't include in the full length chapters.


	2. In the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenedath has escaped Helgen with help from Hadvar, but at a great cost.

The flames rose high into the night sky, spitting embers into the gloom. The pine logs of the pyre crackled as they burned. It would be a few hours yet before the flames finally died. The sight of them made Fenedath’s chest ache. Part of him knew she wouldn’t make it. Three days with the same bandages, no medicine, no healer, no food, and hardly any water had been enough to render his magic useless once they were free. But that didn’t do anything to lessen the blow. Miana was gone, and he was alone once more.   
“I’m so sorry, Lass,” He said quietly, hanging his head. His lower lip quivered as a lump formed in his throat. After a few seconds of fighting against the feeling, he allowed himself a few choked sobs. Grief was nothing to be ashamed of.   
The shuffling of feet and a quiet cough reminded him of his companion’s presence. He looked back at the imperial soldier lingering near the edge of the firelight, where the trail continued along the lake to the northeast. Fenedath gave one final look at the pyre. It was time to go.  
“May the winds carry you home, Old Friend,” He said quietly. As if in answer, a cold breeze blew up the cliffside, fanning the flames higher, carrying the blinking embers with it. From the north, dark storm clouds were approaching. The storm would be upon them soon. “Lead on, then, Hadvar. I am ready.”   
Without another word, the soldier handed him an unlit torch. The two lit their torches on the pyre and departed down the trail. Fenedath kept his head down as they walked. It would be too tempting to look back, but he couldn’t bear the sight of the flames anymore. There was nothing there for him now.   
“We can take shelter with my uncle when we reach Riverwood,” Hadvar said after a while of silence. “A hot meal, and warm beds for the night will do us a lot of good. You should really rest with that ankle of yours.”  
Fenedath merely grunted in response. Up until now, he hadn’t paid much mind to the throbbing in his ankle. But after a few hours in the frigid winter evening, his limp was becoming more pronounced. Every step made his ankle throb, sending stabbing pains shooting up his leg. He wasn’t about to let it slow him down, though. He’d suffered worse wounds before.   
Hadvar didn’t seem offput by his silence. “It’s good to have someone to watch my back. These roads can get dangerous at night. Wolves, bandits, stormcloaks, and now dragons---world’s gone mad.”   
“That it has, Lad. That it has….” Fenedath muttered in agreement.   
Silence fell between them once more. Hadvar led on, taking the lead as he held his torch out to see in the dark. Despite the occasional howl from the shadows, no beast dared stray into the torchlight. Fenedath hoped it would stay that way. After their narrow escape from Helgen, he didn’t have it in him to fight off any beasts now.   
The wind came and went in gusts, each colder and stronger than the last. Fenedath drew his cloak tighter around himself and blew into his hands to warm them. He had packed for colder weather, but it chilled him to the bone still. Snow began to come in with the wind- tiny little flakes here and there. Hadvar picked up the pace, shivering.  
“Shouldn’t be too much farther, now. I’m sure of it.” Hadvar looked back at him and flashed him a weary smile. “How’s your leg holding up? That limp’s getting worse.”  
“I’ll be fine once I get a chance to rest and warm up a bit. Don’t worry about me, Lad. I can keep up.” Fenedath grimaced as his leg gave an involuntary wobble as he stepped over a rock in the path. “But not for much longer, I’m afraid.”  
Hadvar stopped and motioned to his pack. “Here, at least let me carry your pack until we get there. The less weight you put on your leg, the better.”  
Fenedath hesitated for a moment before he nodded his head and slung his pack off his shoulder. He handed it to Hadvar and did his best to smile. “Thank you.”  
Hadvar nodded and took his torch back. They both froze as a howl pierced the night, followed by several others. Fenedath cursed under his breath. They sounded close. Too close.   
“Put out your torch, Lad,” Fenedath said quietly, stabbing his torch into the snow berm on the side of the trail. “Now, Lad; it makes us easier to see.”   
Hadvar reluctantly extinguished his torch in the snow and drew his sword. Fenedath cast a dim werelight above them and squinted into the gloom. The clouds were beginning to cover the moon, making it harder to see. But, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw them.  
Four wolves lingered about fifty yards back on the trail, their eyes fixed upon them. Fenedath swore again-did he have it in him to fend the beasts off? Hadvar growled softly when he finally spotted the beasts.   
“We should move; quickly,” He urged.  
Fenedath shook his head. “If we turn our backs, they’ll charge and kill us for sure. Back up slowly and don’t take your eyes off of them. Any sudden moves and they’ll charge.” He drew his sword and took a deep breath. Flames came to life in his hand, crackling softly.  
Slowly, the two of them krept backwards, watching as the wolves trotted down the trail, growling and yipping as they leisurely pursued. Fenedath dared a glance back over his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the lights in the distance.   
Riverwood was close at hand.   
He cried out as he took another step back and his bad leg buckled. Fenedath fell to his knees, hissing through clenched teeth as his ankle voiced its agonizing protest. He loosed a string of curses as he looked back up at the wolves. Sensing easy prey, they charged. Hadvar swore loudly and stepped in front of him, ready and waiting to fight.   
“Can you stand?” Hadvar asked him. He kicked at the first wolf as it came near. It leapt back out of reach and growled, looking between the two of them as it gnashed its teeth. Fenedath let loose a jet of fire from his free hand, snarling victoriously as it struck the wolf’s flank. The scent of burning hair filled the air as the wolf ran back behind its fellows, a streak of light in the dark as the flames burned through fur and skin. The other three stopped, but did not turn to flee.   
“Don’t worry about me, Lad,” Fenedath pushed his hand away as Hadvar reached down to pull him to his feet. As if on cue, the wolves charged. The first lunged for Hadvar. With a roar, Hadvar swung his blade, catching the wolf across the chest. With a high-pitched whine, the wolf fell. The other two came from the side, forcing the soldier away from Fenedath. They backed him up the trail, snapping and growling at his ankles.   
Fenedath attempted to stand, but sank back down to his knees as his leg gave way a second time. With a frustrated growl, he shot another jet of fire at the wolves, but missed. The snow and ice hissed and steamed as the fire hit it. One of the wolves turned to face him. It took a step toward him, baring its fangs. Fenedath snarled back.  
The wolf leapt at him. Fenedath dropped his sword and pulled the dagger from his boot. With a sharp thrust, he stuck the blade in the wolf’s ribs as it tackled him. Its jaws snapped shut just inches from his throat as they tumbled backwards. He snarled as the wolf bit down on his left arm, its teeth denting the mail on his bracers. Pulling his dagger free, he struck the wolf again several times in succession. The wolf’s grip on his arm went slack and its growling ceased. With a heave, he threw the animal off of him.  
Once he was certain the wolf was dead, he looked back over his shoulder to see where Hadvar was. He was kneeling over the last wolf, wiping his blade clean on its fur. Fenedath sighed in relief. The boy was safe.   
“You alright?” Hadvar asked.   
“Aye. You?” Fenedath graciously accepted his hand as Hadvar pulled him to his feet.   
“Aye, I think so.” He handed Fenedath his sword and took up position on his bad side. “Lean on me; you need to get off that leg before it gets any worse.”  
Fenedath brightened the werelight so they could see the trail better and slung his arm around Hadvar’s shoulder. Slowly but surely, they continued on, fueled by the scent of smoke from the chimneys. All Fenedath wanted was to sit by a warm fire and tend to his leg.   
No one stood at the gates as they reached Riverwood. The town was silent. Most of the windows were dark, and few torches lit the streets. Hadar picked up the pace slightly, eager to be off the streets and out of the cold. Fenedath did his best to keep apace as he led the way.   
“There; that’s my uncle’s house. Looks like they’re still awake. Thank the gods.” Hadvar pointed to the smithy just up the street. The forge was dimmed, but a candle still shone in the window. They stopped at the base of the stairs to the door to catch their breath. They had barely taken the first step when the door opened and a man squinted down at the two of them.  
“Who goes there?” He asked gruffly.  
“Uncle Alvor, it’s me,” Hadvar said.   
The man relaxed slightly. “Hadvar, it’s good to see you, Boy. What brings you here at this hour? Are you on leave?” His gaze wandered from his nephew to Fenedath. “And who’s this?”  
“He’s a friend; saved my life in fact. We need a place to rest for the night. His leg’s hurt pretty bad.”  
“Of course; come in side. Tonight is not a good night to be out and about; there’s a storm coming,” Alvor said. He stepped aside to let them in. One stair at a time, Fenedath followed his companion into the house. He sighed in relief as the heat from the fire hit him.   
Hadvar stepped off to the side to speak to his uncle as Fenedath settled on the floor by the fire. Once his hands were warmed, he began to undo the fastenings on his greaves. He set them to the side and untied the lacings to his boot. Slowly, he pulled his leg free, wincing as his ankle protested even the slightest movement. He peeled off his sock and grimaced as he rolled up his leggings.   
His ankle was a nasty purple color and twice its normal size. The bone was visibly out of place still. He cursed himself for his hastiness earlier. But he hadn’t had the time to be thorough then. Not when the keep was burning down around them. Pulling his gloves off, he gingerly felt his ankle, testing to see where the worst of the damage was. A sharp hiss rattled through his teeth with every poke and prod.  
“That ankle doesn’t look good. You need a healer,” Alvor grimaced as he looked down at Fenedath.   
“No, I can manage it myself. Hadvar, my pack, please.” Fenedath looked up at his companion expectantly. Hadvar set the bag down beside him and took a seat at the table.   
“You sure you don’t want to put a splint on and wait for a healer till morning? My uncle is right. It doesn’t look good,” Hadvar fixed him with a worried frown.  
“I’m touched by the concern, but I’ve learned a few tricks in my time, Lad. I can mend it myself,” Fenedath said as he dug through his pack. He grimaced when he saw how few of its original contents were still present. After a bit of rummaging, he found one of his potions. He pulled the cork and downed the contents, grimacing at the bitter, earthy taste.   
As the potion set in, the discomfort in his ankle lessened. Again he placed his hands on his ankle and muttered the words of a healing spell, focusing on the worst of the damage first. He felt his bone and tendons snapping back into place, but the potion kept the worst of the pain at bay. With a weary sigh, he ended the spell and rolled his ankle twice to test his work. The worst of the bruising and swelling had gone away, but the ankle still wasn’t healed completely. He’d need more rest and a clearer mind. But at least he’d be able to walk on it safely now.  
Alvor looked Fenedath up and down, concern still heavy in his eyes. “Will that leg hold you?”  
“Aye, it will,” Fenedath nodded as he rose to his feet, careful not to put his full weight on it yet. He sat with them at the table and looked over at Hadvar. “Thank you for helping us escape, Hadvar. I owe you my life.”  
“And I owe you mine. If not for your magic, I’m sure we would have perished,” Hadvar reached across the table and shook his hand.   
“Escape? What’s happened, Boy? Why are you both so banged up?” Alvor asked.  
“It’s a very long story, Uncle. Perhaps it should wait until morning. It’s very late,” Hadvar said.  
“He needs to know about the dragon, Lad. They’re all in danger.” Fenedath looked over at Alvor. The man had a right---a need---to know. “Helgen is gone, destroyed by a dragon. We managed to escape, but we don’t know how many others were so lucky. Last we saw it, it was flying this way.”  
Alvo frowned at the two of them. For a moment, he was silent, mulling over Fenedath's words. “Dragon? You two aren’t drunk, are you?”  
“It’s true, Uncle. It appeared out of nowhere and just wrecked the whole town. I’ve never run faster in my life. Nothing we did could bring it down. We barely got out of there alive.”  
Alvor sat back in his chair and stroked his beard as he pondered their story. Fenedath could see the worry in his eyes. “We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf, if what you say is true. Riverwood is defenseless. If that beast is still out there, we need soldiers here to protect the townsfolk.”  
“Then I will go to him and tell him myself. Who better to bear the message than someone who was there?” Fenedath said. He’d need to head to Whiterun to catch a carriage to Solitude anyway. What was one more quick stop on his journey?  
“You should wait until morning, at least. The storm is almost on us, and it’s a day’s walk from here to Whiterun. Rest here for the night, I insist,” Alvor said. “You need to rest that leg of yours before you go on another journey.”  
Fenedath looked down at the locket around his neck and dipped his head. They were right. He couldn’t fulfill his promise to Miana if he went and killed himself out in a blizzard in the middle of the night. It would do him no good to foolishly follow her to the grave. “I will stay then, but I leave at first light.”  
“I can accompany you to Whiterun. I need to catch a carriage to Solitude, warn them of what’s happened if no one else can,” Hadvar said.   
“Then it’s settled. You two can sleep out here by the fire, get yourselves all warmed up. Come dawn, you’ll be fed and ready to go on your way,”Alvor said. With that said, he shook both of their hands and bade them goodnight.  
With a weary sigh, Fenedath rose from his seat and propped his pack up beside the fireplace. An uneasy sleep took hold of him as he settled in for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Miana gone, Fenedath finds himself traveling alone for the first time in a very long time. But a new face is just around the corner ;)


	3. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dragon attack, Fenedath settles in for the day to rest and recover from the ordeal

Fenedath grumbled to himself as a hand gently shook his shoulder. Surely they couldn’t be in that big of a hurry for her to rouse him so soon? But Miana did not relent, and gave his shoulder another shake. Leave it to her to be always in a hurry when it’s her quest on the line.   
“What's the hurry, Lass?” Fenedath mumbled, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he sat up. He could smell food cooking--- bread, potatoes, and some sort of herbs--- and it was so pleasant and warm by the fire. Surely they couldn't be in that big of a hurry? They’d been on the open road for weeks; what did a few extra minutes of comfort matter?   
His heart sank when he locked eyes with Hadvar instead of Miana. Oh… he thought to himself. The events of the last few days flooded back to him: the ambush, the two day ride to Helgen, and the dragon attack. Right….   
“Breakfast is cooking,” Hadvar whispered. “But we're snowed in. We’ll be lucky to get out of the village by tomorrow morning.”  
A scowl twitched at Fenedath’s lips. The last thing he needed was another delay. This trip north had already cost him dearly, and he wasn’t exactly fond of lingering in Skyrim any longer than necessary for fear of tempting fate any further. “A bit of snow won't stop me. I can melt us a path.”   
Fenedath winced as he rose to his feet. His ankle cried out in protest as he took a step forward. Hadvar caught him as he stumbled. “The snow might not be an issue, but that ankle still needs rest. The Jarl can wait for now.” Hadvar helped him to the table, pulling up another chair to prop up his leg with. To Fenedath’s dismay, the bruising had worsened overnight, as had the swelling. It appeared he hadn’t really done as good of a job as he had thought.  
“Mara have mercy, that's a nasty looking ankle!” The woman standing in front of the fireplace exclaimed. She set aside her ladle and rushed over, gingerly examining his leg. “Is it broken?”  
Fenedath smiled despite the discomfort. Concern radiated from her, written in the crease of her brow as she looked him over. “Your concern is touching, Lass. But it's not as bad as it looks. It's mostly just bruising and sore muscles now.”  
“Are you sure?” She turned his foot ever so slightly, sending a sharp pain up his leg. Fenedath choked back a snarl. She quickly withdrew her hands, raising her hand to her lips with a soft gasp. “Oh! I’m so sorry.”  
“It’s no trouble, dear lady,” He assured her. A faint blush tinged her cheeks at the word. She brushed the stray strands of hair from her face and smiled sheepishly. “I don’t believe I caught your name, Lass.”  
“This is Sigrid, my uncle's wife. Sigrid, this is Fenedath. He’s a friend of mine,” Hadvar said.  
“It is good to meet you, Sigrid.” Fenedath dipped his head politely.   
“Same to you.” She smiled wider before her attention snapped back to the fireplace. With another soft gasp she quickly returned to her cauldron bubbling over the fire, stirring the thickening stew with vigor.  
Fenedath placed his fingers gently on his ankle, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong the night before. The bones felt as though they were in place. Perhaps there were still fractures he had missed? After a while longer of prodding and feeling, he reached out for the familiar old magic again, muttering the spell under his breath. Warmth spread from his fingertips down into his ankle. His skin crawled as the magic seeped into his bones and muscles, repairing the damage he’d done in his fall. When at last he felt satisfied with his work, he cut off the spell. The warm light around his hands and foot faded, revealing a now only slightly swollen ankle, free of bruises.   
“I’ve never seen anything quite like that,” Sigrid whispered in awe.   
“Aye, magic’s a strange thing, it is,” Hadvar nodded. “Must be nice to be able to heal yourself whenever you need to.”  
Fenedath chuckled, amused at the thought. “Yes, it must be nice indeed. I’m afraid what I know of healing would barely fit a thimble compared to a trained priest or healer. I know how to patch myself up in a scrape, but little else.” With Hadvar’s help, he rose to his feet and took a few steps to test his leg. Despite the lingering ache, his ankle seemed content to hold him for now.   
“How bad is the snow out there?” Fenedath asked as he scooped his pack up from the floor and returned to his chair. He propped his leg back up as he began to sift through what was left of his belongings.   
“A good three feet at least; everyone’s digging the streets out right now. I’m going out to help once we’ve eaten,” Hadvar answered. “You aren’t still set on leaving today, are you?”  
“I suppose it would be unwise to test my leg’s endurance after such a nasty break. One more day isn’t going to kill me.” Fenedath pulled Miana’s letter from his bag and gently set it on the table. He ran a finger over the red wax seal, his chest becoming tight. Fifty years she’d stood beside him---the sword and shield at his back, a stalwart friend that never wavered. To be without her brought back a familiar melancholy he’d come to accept over the years as he began to outlive many of his human friends. But experience never lessened the initial blow.   
“How much of your stuff is missing?” Hadvar asked tentatively as he took a seat opposite Fenedath at the table, drawing him from his thoughts.  
“Well, my blade is good as gone. Miana’s sword will have to do until I return to Cyrodiil and forge a new one. A good portion of my jewelry stock I was hoping to sell off in Solitude is gone, but again, that can be replaced.” Fenedath set three silver and sapphire necklaces and a handful of gold-jeweled rings on the table. He’d had thrice as much at the start to his journey, each piece enchanted by the best of his apprentices. The loss made him a little bitter, but the coin wouldn’t be missed too much. He scooped them up and placed them in his bag again, taking extra care to not wrinkle the letter. “I’ll just need to pawn a ring or two to catch us a carriage to Solitude.”  
“You don’t have to do that. I can pay my own way there,” Hadvar said.   
“I insist, Lad.” Fenedath looked over at him, putting on his best I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer face. “If not for you, I’d have died in Helgen. We’re both headed in the same direction, so we may as well stick together, no?”  
After a moment of hesitation, Hadvar relented and nodded his head. “I suppose that’s fair.”  
“You mentioned you were returning to Cyrodiil after you reach Solitude. Is that where you are from?” Sigrid asked. She pulled the two loaves of bread from the hearth and placed them in a bowl on the table.   
“Aye, that I am,” Fenedath said. “I’ll have my hands full when I return, I’m sure.”   
The three of them looked up at the door when they heard stomping outside. After a moment, Alvor stepped into the house, shadowed by a little girl no older than ten. They both shook the snow from their coats as the door shut behind them.   
“Shore’s bones, it’s cold out there,” Alvor shivered as he began to tug off his gloves. In three quick strides he crossed the room and planted a kiss on Sigrid’s cheek. She wrinkled up her nose as his frosted whiskers tickled her skin. “But we got the path to the forge cleared.”  
“Hadvar! Is it true you saw a dragon? Was it big? Did it breathe fire?” The girl ran to Hadvar, tackling him into a hug. Hadvar grunted as she collided with him, a small smile spreading across his face.   
“Leave him be, Child,” Sigrid tutted as she grabbed the bowls from the table. “You can ask him questions after he’s eaten.”  
“But, Mama, I want to ask him about the dragon!” The girl took a few steps back and brushed more snow from her coat. She pouted her lip out slightly in hopes to sway her, but to no avail.   
“After breakfast, Dorthe,” Hadvar said. “Once we’ve eaten, I’ll tell you all about it, eh?”  
Dorthe’s face lit up. She unbuttoned her coat and hung it up on the wall beside the door, taking the seat next to Hadvar at the table. Fenedath put his leg down to make room for Alvor at the table. The blacksmith peeled his gloves off and set them by the fire to dry before seating himself.  
Sigrid set a steaming bowl of stew before him. The scent of fresh food made Fenedath’s stomach growl loudly. Gods above, when was the last time he’d actually had a decent meal? Despite his ravenous appetite, he waited patiently until Sigrid had seated herself at the table to begin eating. Never in his life had he been happier to taste potato soup in his life, simple though it was. Eagerly, he took several more bites, helping himself to one of the pieces of sliced bread on the table.  
“So, how did you meet Hadvar, Fenedath? Are you a fellow soldier? You don’t exactly look the part,” Sigrid asked.   
Fenedath shifted uncomfortably and swallowed his bite of bread. Was there a way to tell the tale without making himself sound like a criminal? Thankfully, Hadvar answered first.   
“The officers made a mistake during an ambush and picked up Fenedath and his friend when they got caught in the middle of it. I helped him escape when the dragon attacked.”  
“I knew there was a dragon!” Dorthe said between bites. She looked between Fenedath and Hadvar, eager for answers. “What color was it? Was it big?”  
“Not now, Dorthe,” Alvor said gently. “If they don't want to talk about it, they don’t have to.”  
Dorthe looked between the two of them again, hoping that they would relent where her parents stood steadfast. Fenedath gave her a wink as he swallowed his bite of stew. “We’ll tell you all about it later, Lass. I promise.”   
Silence fell around the breakfast table for a moment as they ate. Fenedath didn’t mind it; the hospitality alone was good enough for him. It felt good to be warm and dry, with fresh food in his belly and a somewhat clearer head. Perhaps a day’s rest really was in order. He’d need time to organize himself, and get a letter prepared for when they reached Whiterun to tell the others back in Cyrodiil what had transpired, and to send a ship to meet him in Solitude.  
“You’ve got some dents in the mail on your bracer, there,” Alvor said to him. “Can I take a look?”  
Fenedath glanced down at his left arm where the wolf had bitten him the night before. Several of the chain links were bent out of shape, lifting up at odd angles. Wordlessly, he undid the straps and buttons and slid the bracer off his arm. With a keen eye, Alvor turned it over, running his fingers along the damaged mail.   
“It’s beautiful work, whoever made it. Custom?”  
Fenedath nodded. “Hand crafted them myself. I run a chain of blacksmiths in Cyrodiil. Though I must say it’s been some time since I’ve had to wear it.”  
Alvor lit up. “Truly? I didn’t take you much to be the hands on type. So you work the forges yourself?”  
“In the early years, yes, I would. Nowadays, I find myself whisked away from my forges by other business matters more often than not.”  
“You’ve been in business a long time, then?”  
“Aye, a long time, indeed.”  
Alvor examined the mail again, rubbing his fingers over the stitching in the leather as if trying to figure out how they had been put together. “I can try and repair the dents for you, if you like.”  
“I would appreciate it. I would hate for the metal to be permanently warped out of shape.” Fenedath smiled appreciatively. The armor had served him well on many occasions over the years. He hated the idea of neglecting it in such a way.   
Sigrid rose first once everyone was finished eating, clearing away the bowls and spoons. Dorthe scooted her chair back and looked between Fenedath and Hadvar expectantly, eager for the story she had been promised. But with a stern look from her father, she rose from her chair to help her mother clean up.   
“I'm heading back out to help shovel some more,” Alvor said as he stood. “Leave your bracers on the table and I'll get to them when I start up the forge.”   
“I'll come help you,” Hadvar said.   
“Are you feeling up for it, Boy?” Alvor fixed him with a worried frown as he looked him up and down.   
“I'm fine, Uncle. Gives me something to do other than sit about all day,” Hadvar replied.   
Alvor stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment. “You’ll need gloves, and warmer boots, then. Come down to the basement with me. I should have something that will fit you.”  
Together, the two descended the staircase in the corner of the room. Fenedath propped his leg back up on the chair beside him and pulled his pack back up onto his lap. Again he withdrew Miana’s sealed letter and her necklace and set them on the table before him. He ran his finger over the engraving on the pewter locket. The carvings were faded and worn from age and Miana’s constant fidgeting. How often had she rubbed her thumb over it pensievely over the years? It pained him to think that he’d never hear her tell the tale of how she’d gotten it. There was so much of her that was still a mystery to him, despite their closeness. She had never wanted to speak of her life before meeting him.   
“That’s a beautiful necklace. Did you make that one, too?” Sigrid asked him from the fireplace, where she was bus scrubbing out the pot from breakfast.   
“No, not this one. It belonged to a friend of mine,” Fenedath answered. “I’m to give it to someone she wanted me to find.”  
“Is that why you’re bound for Solitude, then? Why didn’t she come with you?”  
Fenedath’s chest tightened. By the eight, he’d suffered this loss many times in his life. But Miana’s absence had left a far larger void in his life than he had anticipated. When hadn’t they been together over the last twenty years? Who would watch his blindside in combat, if not her? “She... didn’t make it out of Helgen. So I’m continuing her mission for her.”  
“I’m so sorry.” Sigrid hung her head, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t mean to pry.”  
“It is no trouble, Lass. An old man like me is used to this sort of thing.”  
Dorthe looked up at him from the bowls she was cleaning, frowning slightly. “You don’t look that old.”  
The comment brought a smile to Fenedath’s face. “Would you believe it if I told you that I just celebrated my two-hundred and first birthday just three months ago?”  
Dorthe’s mouth dropped open. Surprise flashed across Sigrid’s face as well. “I wouldn’t,” Dorthe said.   
“Well it’s true, little lass,” Fenedath chuckled. “I was born in the Summerset Isles not five weeks after the Oblivion Crisis ended. I’ve been around Tamriel a long, long time.”  
Silence fell between them for a moment before Dorthe spoke up once more. “So… will you tell me about the dragon, now?”   
Fenedath looked over at Sigrid first. When her mother shrugged her shoulders, Fenedath motioned to the chair opposite him at the table. “You’ll want to be sitting for this one, Lass. It’s quite the story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about such a late update, guys! I've been working about 45 hours a week so it's been hard to squeeze in time for workin on my fics. I hope you guys enjoy!


	4. The Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenedath recites the tale of his escape from Helgen for Dorthe, and gets things prepared for his journey to Whiterun.

Dorthe quickly finished cleaning the bowls from breakfast and raced back to the table. She sat forward in her seat, elbows resting on the table as she waited on bated breath for Fenedath to begin his story. Her mouth hung open ever so slightly, eyes wide in eager anticipation. The sight of her waiting so eagerly made him smile. 

Fenedath sat back in his chair, adjusting his leg so he was more comfortable. He put Miana’s locket around his neck and set the letter aside. It wouldn’t be any trouble to start writing his letters later. He could feel Dorthe’s eyes watching his every move, growing more impatient by the second.  _ Ah, the curious youth _ , Fenedath thought to himself.

“We pulled into Helgen just before sundown. No one seemed to care that the horses were on edge as we came to a stop. They separated Miana and me from the stormcloaks when they realized they’d picked us up in error---” He paused for a moment, trying to decide what was safe to tell her and what wasn’t. He’d have to spare the more violent and personal details. “---and so we waited for the Thalmor to come and confirm that I was not a fugitive they were hunting for. 

“And then the dragon came.

“It was so quiet, almost no one seemed to notice it at first: just a faint rumble in the distance, so soft it could be mistaken for distant thunder. And so, the imperials kept about their business with the Stormcloaks they had captured. Then the second roar came, more audible than the last. This one made everyone pause for a moment, and turn their eyes skyward, but not enough to trigger a defensive response. Had they begun gathering everyone up at that moment, then maybe things would have been a little different.”

“What happened next?” Dorthe whispered. She was on the edge of her seat now, face resting in her hands as she leaned forward. Her legs no longer swung back and forth as they dangled above the floor, and her mouth hung wide open. Fenedath's smile widened ever so slightly at the sight of her waiting with such eager anticipation.

“What happened? Why, the dragon came down upon us on giant, thunderous wings, leaving fire and destruction in its wake! It took the soldiers by surprise. One minute all had been quiet, and the next, it was there. It landed on one of the towers and let out a fearsome roar that rattled the windows and shook the very ground beneath my feet.” A shudder ran down Fenedath’s spine. When the beast had first landed, it had looked down at all the terrified faces beneath it, and he could have sworn it had looked directly at him with its burning red eyes. He saw nothing but fire and death staring back at him. 

Fenedath looked over his shoulder at Alvor and Hadvar as they came back up the stairs from the basement. Hadvar was tugging a pair of thick wool-lined leather gloves on with a long scarf wrapped several times around his neck. He had a spare shovel resting on his shoulders.

“Telling her the story, eh?” Hadvar asked as he crossed the room. 

“Aye, I couldn’t keep it from her any longer,” Fenedath chuckled. 

“How big was it? Did it breathe fire?” Dorthe sat up straighter, face lighting up as she rattled off yet more questions.

Sigrid shook her head, laughing to herself as she passed by them to place the bowls and spoons on the shelf by the table. “So full of questions, Child.”

“Aye, too curious for her own good,” Alvor said as he opened the front door. A chilling breeze swept into the house as the two men stepped outside. With a final small gust, the door shut firmly behind them.

“Young minds are always inquisitive,” Fenedath said. “But to answer you, Lass, he was massive. His great, black wings eclipsed the sun and his whole throat and belly glowed whenever he breathed fire. I’ve never seen anything quite as spectacular and terrifying as that beast in all my life.” 

“Is that how you lost your eye?” Dorthe asked as she traced three fingers down her left eye. 

Fenedath absently reached up and brushed his fingers across the three jagged scars that ran down his face from his brow to his jaw. “No, that happened many years ago. Another story for another time.”

Dorthe was quiet for a moment as she fished around for another question. Fenedath could practically see the multitude of them ripe on the tip of her tongue as she thought. “How did you escape the dragon?”

“Well, without Hadvar, I would have surely perished,” Fenedath answered. “Miana and I stumbled upon him purely by chance. With his help, I was able to get her safely inside the stone keep. Once safe inside, I did my best to address her wounds before we set off to find another way out of the keep. 

“Had Miana not heard them ahead of us, we would have been ambushed by two Stormcloak soldiers that had managed to sneak into the keep as well. Hadvar and I dispatched them quickly and continued on deeper down into the bowels of the keep. But we were not alone in the tunnels. Other Stormcloaks had managed to find their way into the keep as well, and were more than eager to fight any who stumbled upon them. My magic and Hadvar’s blade barely got us out of those tunnels.” Fenedath paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow expectantly at Dorthe. The girl looked as though she was about to burst if she didn’t slip in at least one more question. “Yes, Lass?”

“How did you hurt your ankle?” She asked. “Did you get hurt by the Stormcloaks?”

Fenedath forced a laugh. “I wish it had happened so valiantly. But no, I fell when a wooden drawbridge we were crossing was crushed by a cave-in. It wasn’t far of a fall, but I snapped my ankle clean through. After that, it seemed like I was relying more on Miana to walk than she was me. But we managed to get through the tunnels together with Hadvar as our---”

“---But wait, I thought you said Miana didn’t make it out of Helgen?” Dorthe frowned. Fenedath tucked his chin to his chest. Part of him didn’t wish to speak about the details of her death, especially to a child. But he knew she would not let him be without some sort of answer. 

“Dorthe, that’s not a question you ask so freely,” Sigrid scolded. “Respect his privacy.”

“It’s alright, Sigrid. There’s no harm done. It was an innocent question,” Fenedath said quietly, desperately hoping he didn’t sound as hoarse as he thought he did. He didn’t feel like weeping again in front of strangers, no matter how welcoming. “By the time we’d reached the exit, she was very weak. Her wounds had become infected, and it was too late to attempt to save her from her fate. All the exertion of the escape took its toll---and her life---just moments after we escaped.”

“Oh.” Dorthe went quiet as she swung her legs back and forth, chewing on her cheek. “Sorry your friend died.”

Fenedath smiled softly.  _ Kindness _ , he thought to himself.  _ Always in the last place you expect to find it.  _ He dipped his head politely. “Thank you, Lass. She will be missed dearly.”

“I’m glad you’ll have Hadvar with you on your way to Solitude. The roads have been so treacherous lately since the war started.” Sigrid said as she crossed the room, seeming eager to switch the subject to something less personal and depressing. “Now is not a good time to be alone in your travels.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Fenedath nodded to himself. As much as he hated admitting it, he was getting old. His reflexes were not what they had been fifty years ago. Not even all the magic at his disposal could save him from an enemy striking him from his blind side.  

“Did you need anything from the store? I need to grab a few things for dinner tonight.” Sigrid motioned for Dorthe to stand up as she pulled a heavy fur coat off of the coat rack by the door. Dorthe huffed out a disappointed sigh as she pushed her chair back and stood up to fetch her coat. 

Fenedath grabbed his pack and pulled out a small bag of coins. “If you wouldn’t mind grabbing me a few rolls of parchment, and ink and quills, that would be wonderful; I have quite a few letters to write.” 

  
  


Come evening, Fenedath had finished four letters; one addressed to his successor, Marevar, and the other three to various friends that would need to know of Miana’s death to begin the process of sorting through her will and belongings. He let out a tired sigh as he set his quill down on the table and rolled his stiff and aching wrist a few times. There were still many more he’d have to write once in Solitude. Undoubtedly, his apprentices would raise a fuss when news reached them. He had a knack for almost getting himself killed whenever he went on adventures. 

With a yawn, he pulled the first of the letters to him and read it over. He’d done his best to try and make things seem not dire as they were. But, if he knew Marevar, the lad would not take the news as gently as Fenedath hoped he would. No amount of words could lessen the blow of Miana’s passing. This was only more fuel to add to his apprentice’s argument that he was too old to be traipsing about without guards of any kind. At best, he was middle-aged for an altmer. He was no longer in his prime, but nor was he helpless. At least, not completely.

Satisfied with the brief message, he rolled the parchment up and grabbed the next one. This one was a little lengthier than the first. He had to inform his steward of Miana’s death, and provide instructions on where to find the documents he would need to begin sorting through her will. Halward would undoubtedly take the news hard. Miana and he had been very close friends. This letter he couldn’t bear to finish. It had been hard enough to write it. Rereading it would only make him feel worse. He rolled up the other two and put all four letters in his pack.

“Who are the letters for?” Dorthe asked as she set down her stack of dishes and began to set the table.

“My apprentices and a few dear friends,” Fenedath said. “I’ll need them to send some money of mine to Solitude so I can catch a ship back home to Cyrodiil.”

“How many apprentices do you have?”

Fenedath chuckled. Now that was a good question. How many  _ did  _ he have now? Between three different locations, there had to be close to thirty of them, not to mention so many others that had come before them and gone off on their own. “Oh, more than this old elf can count, Lass. I’ve had many study under my belt. I bet you’d make a fine apprentice of mine in a few years.” Fenedath nudged her arm as he gave her a wink. 

Dorthe smiled, seeming very pleased at the comment. Her head snapped up as Alvor and Hadvar marched back through the door. The two shook the snow from their coats and boots and quickly crossed the room to warm themselves by the fire. Hadvar let out a stiff groan as he squatted down and rubbed his hands together before the flames in the hearth. Alvor set down the heavy sack he had slung over his back and peeled off his coat and gloves.

“Roads have been cleared for the most part,” Alvor said as he combed his fingers through his beard a few times to get rid of the snow and ice. “You two might have a bit of trouble after the bridge, but I’m sure the snow shouldn’t be too difficult to pass through.”

“A bit of fire here and there and I’m sure we’ll get ourselves to Whiterun in no time,” Fenedath replied.

“How’s the leg?” Hadvar asked. “Feeling any better?”

“Still a bit of a limp, but after a break like that, even magic can only do so much.” Fenedath rolled his ankle slowly, gritting his teeth as his muscles ached and protested. Of all times to be injured, it had to be now when he needed to be on the move. “I should feel a little better in the morning.” 

“I have your bracers, and your greaves, too. Didn’t take much effort to get them to lay flat again. That’s good steel you used; it practically repairs itself.” Alvor dug through his sack and pulled out two bundles wrapped in linen. “Never seen such intricate work in all my life.”

Fenedath took the bundles and tucked the greaves safely in his bag. He unwrapped the braces, eager to inspect the repair. “They were a labor of love, for sure. Took me over a fortnight to complete just the bracers and greaves.” The links were just as smooth as they had been a few days prior, hammered flat and oiled with great care. Carefully, Fenedath wrapped them up again and put them in his pack as well. “Thank you for mending them for me, Alvor. They look brand new.”

Sigrid cleared her throat quietly as she squeezed between the two men at the fire to stir the stew. “Why don’t you to get seated so we can eat? You two will have to leave early in the morning if you want to make it to Whiterun by sundown.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! It's been a while since I've touched ToTF. But I'm almost done filling in the gaps between this chapter and the more exciting bits I've been drafting, so updates should become a little more regular.


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